hi there, doc. it takes a moment for the heavily-drugged miranda to react. she looks up slowly: eyes glazed, painfully out of it.
i never got shrinked by you but all i hear is nothing gets past you, i mean, that's just hearsay and i don't pay much attention to hearsay because now they say you hacked your husband with an axe but i say maybe it just slipped, right?
they put your picture in the paper. it reads "school principal slaughtered. wife under arrest." photos of miranda, douglas, their house. miranda stares at it in disbelief. growing sick.
chloe did. who knows how? not me. around here i'm on a need to know basis about stuff and most stuff i don't need to know. my point is about people talking behind other people's backs. like before i was here, everything i did i thought, 'this'll get them,' wanting their approval, wanting them to say good things behind my back. but now i'm more anonymous, more myself. i'm shelley. miranda slides the clipping back to shelley, clueless as to how to get out of this conversation, but shelley has no problem holding a conversation all by herself --
you're not like, undercover here, are you? they pulled that at spring grove, had a bunch of doctors pretend they were patients, see if they could handle it. most quit after day one. you're not, are you?
because if you were, i'm like the fort knox of secrets. ask anybody.
say no more. i understand perfectly.
drawing is a great cover. good luck to you. with a wink, she's gone. miranda looks at the room around her: chloe spying on her in the corner, irene and the nurse sharing a laugh, other patients ambling about, arguing -- life among the insane.
and pick up those damn cigarette butts. jesus, tv is dumb --
the housewives will find something better to do.
oh my god. oh my god.
listen, doctor. some people, they have a gift. and in here, because they categorize us as a bunch of schizos, they refuse to acknowledge that. it's like that hubble telescope that sees things a trillion miles away but what it's seeing is just reflected light of a star that died a thousand years ago? it's like that. doesn't mean you're crazy. it only means your eyes open in a different way. miranda tries to follow the convoluted explanation, but has a sinking feeling.
on the telescope?
that's not tile that wall is made out of . it's a holographic screen. all part of your mission, isn't it? miranda shakes her head, feeling foolish. walks away.
this is all we have. the rest is dust.
 she'd get high on glue and make me help her try on my bras. is that the strangest shit you've heard?
and she always put on a happy face. man, what an optometrist. optometrist? miranda starts to correct her, but lets it go.
all work, that woman. work, work, work.
she's like an alcoholic. but with work.
not safe to tell you. wish i could. jenna rolls her eyes, returns to her food.
you're gonna get that pulitzer after all.
i told you i could keep a secret.